


loves me not

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, Fluff, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara plays a game with flowers and Asriel becomes distressed for various reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	loves me not

**Author's Note:**

> alternative summary: chara and asriel are fuckigngn gay and spend the afternoon flirting in the garden and NOTHING WHATSOEVER ACTUALLY HAPPENS PLEASE DON’t JUDGE ME
> 
> warnings for traces of unhealthy/codependent thinking towards the end but for the most part I just wanted something sweet and sleepy and cozy

When spring comes, the flowers of the surface come with it, their return heralded by the rains of April. Chara talks about the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine in a way that sounds a bit like they’re quoting from a book you’ve never read, but you don’t mind; the way they say it makes it sound like poetry, and spring puts you in a very poetry-loving sort of mood.

You spent the winter eagerly awaiting the arrival of the warmer months. Not because you had some especial dislike of the cold, but because Chara had spent the summer and the fall cultivating the backyard, transforming it from an empty patch of land into something worthy of their high botanical standards. Spring brings with it the fruits of their labour, and on the first truly warm day after the flowers have begun to bloom, you join them in the backyard to bask in the results. But despite all the time they’ve spent working on the yard, their favourite place to sit and admire the season is the uncultivated corner where the strawberries and wildflowers grow free – where the air tastes sweet and the ground feels sun-warm and you feel so content that you almost think that you could fall asleep out there.

You almost never do: you hate the thought of dozing off and missing even a moment of the time you have alone with Chara. But your sleep after sitting in the garden is always deep and restful, unmarred by any of the nightmares that so often haunt your dreams on other nights, and a part of you has become convinced that there must be something magical about that corner, something healing. Maybe t _hat’s_ why Chara likes to sit out there so often, you think. You hope so, anyway. You like to think that it’s as good for them as it is for you.

In the quiet golden stillness of one such afternoon, you lay stretched out upon the grass, letting the sun pour down all around you. Usually you bring something to do with you, like a comic book or sketchpad, but today you’re simply listening to Chara read out loud. It’s a story about a girl whose family all died, and you suppose it’s not a very cheerful story, but Chara seems to like it, and you like Chara, and so you do your best to listen, even though the sunlight feels so wonderfully delicious and the birds are singing like they’ll never have another chance to sing. 

Even so, your drowsiness eventually seems to get the best of you. One moment you’re watching as the snow-white clouds drift across the sky, listening as Chara reads to you of arsenic in sugar bowls and girls wanting to live upon the moon. The next, you’re sneezing yourself awake as Chara tickles your nose with a daisy.

“Are you photosynthesizing?” they ask, expression utterly solemn.

You heft yourself upright. “Sorry,” you apologize, stifling a yawn. “The sun just feels so nice out here…it’s hard to stay awake.”

“I guess I can forgive you,” Chara says, slipping a bookmark in between the pages of their novel and setting it down upon the grass. “For now, anyway.”

They lean back against the fence, watching you with a thoughtful expression as they spin the daisy idly between their fingers. Then, without warning, they pluck one of the petals and let it go with a smile. Puzzled, you watch as it floats gracefully down onto the lawn; then, still smiling, Chara declares, “Loves me.”

“Huh?” you ask.

But they don’t explain. Instead, they pluck another petal and release it. You watch as it catches on the breeze and drifts out of sight. Meanwhile, overhead, the leaves begin to rustle in the wind.

“Loves me not,” Chara says.

The gesture feels somehow familiar and your brow furrows as you try and place it. But then Chara tugs yet another petal from the flower, and your eyes widen with recognition.

“Oh!” you say, clapping your hands together. “This is that game you showed me! The flower fortune game!”

“Maybe,” they reply. They let the petal go. “Loves me sometimes.”

At this, you frown. If it’s the game you’re thinking of, then you’re already somewhat familiar with the rules. But when Chara showed it to you before back Underground, they kept it simple – yes or no questions, each petal a possibility.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard them say _sometimes._

“That’s not how it goes, is it?” you ask.

Chara shrugs. Another petal falls. “Loved me once,” they say.

A question worms itself into your head and you feel your frown deepen. It’s a prickly, uncomfortable sort of question that you almost don’t want to ask, lest the answer be one that you don’t want to hear, but – you can’t just sit and _watch,_ can you? Not while the possibility exists?

“Who are you asking the flower about?” you venture.

Chara shoots you a winning smile before plucking another petal. “You, of course,” they say, then add, “Loves me today,” as they let the petal go.

You feel the curl of something bright and warm within your chest and settle back down, smiling in satisfaction. No rivals you don’t know about, then.

But then Chara’s words sink in.  

“I love you _every_ day!” you protest, suddenly indignant. “You know that.”

Chara shrugs, carelessly tearing off another petal. “I want to see what the flower says,” they reply, letting the petal go. “Will love me soon. And for the record, it’s not very becoming for the future king to sulk.”

“I’m not _sulking,”_ you say, sulkily. “And what do you mean, _will love me soon?_ I love you _now!”_

“But what does the _flower_ think? Won’t love me later,” they add, and yet another petal falls.

“The flower’s a liar!” you snap. “You can’t trust flowers – _everybody_ knows that.”

Chara’s smile widens even further. “Well, gee,” they say, and they wave the daisy back and forth, taunting you with it. You glower, fists clenching and unclenching as you try and resist the urge to snatch it from their hands and tears its head off. “You seem awfully upset about this, Azzy. Is there maybe something you don’t want me to know?”

_“No!”_

“Won’t love me again,” they say. “Never loved me at all.”

_“CHARA!”_

They laugh softly. Then, with a particularly gentle smile, they say, “Loves me.”

At this, you sigh in relief. No stupid flower is allowed to lie to Chara, you think venomously, picturing an entire field of daisies up in flames. Least of all about your feelings, which are _pure_ and _invincible_ and –

“Loves me not.”

You watch in horror as the final petal falls.

“Oh,” Chara says, glancing down at the fully-plucked daisy in their hand. “Look at that. I guess you don’t love me after all.”

 _“No!”_ you wail. “Chara, don’t believe it! I love you for real, I promise!”

“I _want_ to believe you, I really do,” they say mournfully, setting the flower down beside their novel. “But I can’t believe the forces of nature would conspire just to lie to me.”

“NATURE IS TOTALLY A LIAR,” you shout, then wince. You really need to work on volume control; someday you’re going to end up bellowing out something you don’t want other people to hear.

Chara’s mouth twitches. They lift a hand to cover their face, masking their expression, but you think that you can see the barest hint of a smile.

“Can you do it again?” you plead. “Maybe you just got a bad flower – if you do it again, then maybe…”

“There’s no need to sacrifice any more flowers,” Chara says. “I have my answer, after all. The truth may be bitter, but…”

“Then let me _prove_ the flower’s lying!” you demand, once again clenching your fists, but this time in determination instead of anger. “I love you, Chara! I love you so _much!_ You have to let me prove it to you!”

You know, of course, that Chara is just teasing you, no matter how oblivious you might be acting. You’re not so foolish that you’d actually believe a silly game like this might give them cause to doubt you, not after everything you’ve been through together. But you’re not one to pass up an opportunity, either, and your head is swimming with the myriad of ways you might be asked to prove your love, all of which sound promising.

Chara’s shoulders have begun to shake with suppressed laughter, but then, in a shockingly steady voice that betrays none of their amusement, they ask, “And _how_ are you going to prove it to me?”

Of course it’s then that all your courage abandons you. All thoughts of kisses and heroic deeds seem to disappear without a trace, and you can only say, “Um…I don’t really know.”

Chara clicks their tongue disapprovingly. “How _awful,”_ they say in mock disappointment, shaking their head sadly. “I can’t believe you’d make such lofty promises without a plan of action. Where does that leave me?”

“Well, what do you _want_ me to do?” you ask, and Chara’s face lights up as though you’re telling them the writer they hate most is dead, which…is probably a happier expression for them than it would be for most people.

“Hmm!” they say, once again leaning back against the fence, tenting their fingers in contemplation. “ _Hmm!_ That’s a good question, Asriel! What _do_ I want you to do? Maybe I could tell you to make me a cambric shirt without any seams. Or maybe I could ask you to fetch me the legendary jewelled branch of Horai!”

“Those sound kind of hard,” you say.  

“No shit,” Chara scoffs, rolling their eyes. “That’s kind of the point, dummy.”

“Can it be something I can do in the backyard?” you ask. Even though your courage may have left you, you’re still kind of hoping that Chara will somehow pick up on what you want, even though you’re not entirely sure what that may be. 

Chara rolls their eyes once more. “Okay, fine. Something you can do in the backyard.”

They frown, apparently deep in thought. You begin to rack your brain as well, trying to come up with something you can do that won’t end with you getting pinched or laughed at.

Before you can come up with anything, Chara says, “Stand on your head.”

For a moment, you’re positive that you’ve misheard them and can only say, “Huh?”

“Stand on your head,” they repeat, slower this time, carefully enunciating each word. “For the rest of the day.”

“That’s not very romantic,” you say.

Chara scowls. _“I’m_ the one whose heart was broken,” they snap. “If you want that broken heart to mend, then _stand on your head.”_

Well. You guess you don’t want them to have a broken heart.

You don’t entirely know what you’re doing, but you’ve seen Frisk attempt this often enough to have a vague idea of how to start. You get on your knees, resting on your forearms and lacing your fingers together; then, once you’re in position, you attempt to tip forward so that you can rest your head on the cradle of your hands.

You immediately fall over, your headstand turning into a half-hearted somersault instead.

Chara claps. “That was a _little_ impressive,” they concede. “But it wasn’t a headstand. Try again.”

You obediently try a second time.

Yet again, you tip over.

“It’s not my fault!” you cry when you catch sight of the exaggerated disappointment on Chara’s face. “I’m growing horns now! It’s messing with my head flatness!”

“Oh, _please._ You’re not growing horns yet,” Chara scoffs.

“I am _too_ growing horns,” you insist, and you lean forward, lightly headbutting their shoulder. “See?”

“Very impressive,” Chara says. But despite how sarcastic they sound, they still reach out and stroke the top of your head, fingers lightly brushing against your budding horns, which _totally exist._ You shiver happily at their touch. “Not as impressive as seven hundred push-ups would be, though. If you can’t do a headstand, then you can do those instead.”

“I could do _eight_ hundred, I bet,” you crow, and Chara smirks, giving a little wave of their hand as though to say _get on with it._

You indeed get on with it, collapsing after six.

“You couldn’t even manage one one-hundredth of what I asked,” Chara sighs, shaking their head mournfully and drawing their knees up against their chest. “I guess the flower was right after all.”

“Is there nothing else I can do?” you plead from where you’re sprawled out on the grass. Some part of you is still vaguely imagining giving them some token or making some kind of dramatic vow, like the heroes in the books they like, but you can’t imagine doing it yourself, without them first demanding it. That would be too embarrassing. If you do it at all, it needs to be because they’ve nudged you towards it, even if that means first nudging _them_ towards it.

Your thoughts are then interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the grass, and suddenly, Chara’s all that you can see. They lean over you, arms fencing you in as their head blocks out the sun, light framing them from behind like a halo.

Your heartbeat stutters.

“There’s _one_ thing you could do,” they say, grinning in a way that brings to mind the phrase _baring their teeth._ “But it’ll be really, really difficult. Are you sure you’re up to the task?

“…I think so?” you say, trying to suppress whatever wariness you feel. You know better than to think that Chara would ask anything dangerous of you at this point in your lives, but…

And then a book bops you on the snout and your mind goes blank.

“Read to me,” Chara says. “You fell asleep before. You owe me now.”

You blink.

“Oh,” you say.

You guess you should’ve seen this coming.

Still, you accept the book without complaint, opening it to the page that Chara marked. As you do, they fold themselves beside you, wrapping their long arms around your waist and tucking their head beneath your chin.

A part of you almost wants to drop the book and wrap your arms around them in return, pulling them in as close against you as you dare, but you guess they didn’t ask for very much in the end. You might as well play along, even if their request didn’t end up being very romantic.

Your reading is accompanied both by the low buzz of insects and the gentle rhythm of Chara’s breathing. The sound of it is so soft and steady that you pause at one point, wondering if they fell asleep on you, but then they drowsily command, “Keep going.”

The second time you stop, no such command is given.

“Chara?” you venture. But this time, there’s no answer aside from a quiet sigh, and you set down the book.

Once again, you begin to settle back into the comfortable laziness of the afternoon; into sunshine and fresh air and the smell of wild strawberries. It’s so relaxing that it almost feels unreal, as though the two of you are in another world, separate from the mundanity of reality – the border of dreams and wakefulness.

If you can somehow stay here, perfectly still and perfectly silent, careful to not disturb the peace that has befallen you, then maybe the afternoon can last forever.

As though reading your thoughts, Chara suddenly murmurs, “Stay with me.”

“I thought you were asleep,” you say, keeping your voice low.

“Not anymore.”

“It’s not like I can do anything _but_ stay with you, you know. You’re kind of pinning me down.”

“Not what I meant,” they say, and you think that you can hear the frown in their voice. “I meant forever. For the rest of our lives. Or _my_ life, anyway. That’s the only way that I’ll believe you love me – if you never, ever go, no matter how awful I may get."

“I can do that,” you say without a moment’s hesitation. You don’t think you’ve ever made a promise easier to keep.

Even from your current angle, even in the dappled shade and sunlight, you can see how pink Chara’s face has become. Unable to resist, you reach out and brush a finger against their brow; just once, lightly, but Chara still pushes themselves upright onto their palms so that they can glare you.

“There was a petal on your face,” you lie.

They roll their eyes, but the corners of their mouth are once again twitching upright, and you pull them back down onto your chest. They sprawl heavily on top of you, sinking into you like a pillow, and this time, you wrap your arms around them like you wanted to from the beginning.

You had gone so, so long without touch. Fool that you were, fool that you still are, you hadn’t known to miss it. You know better now. You’ll eagerly accept whatever attention they’re willing to give, even that which comes at the cost of your dignity, because you never, ever want to have to go that long without their warmth again.

With your arms so full of Chara, you can’t pick a daisy of your own. But as you card your fingers through their hair, occasionally lifting strands to watch how it gleams the light, you think to yourself, _loves me._

Overhead there is a canopy of blue and green, and underneath there is the blooming earth, and in between there is the two of you. In this in-between place, you drift off to sleep once more.


End file.
